


The Keeper of Secrets

by Grace_Meadows



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:33:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22982548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grace_Meadows/pseuds/Grace_Meadows
Summary: The true events of the Aucheneich Colliery mining accident of 1959 serve as a backdrop to a love story that would help complete the path to Harry Potter's ultimate triumph over Lord Voldemort.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley
Comments: 7
Kudos: 13
Collections: Against All Odds Oneshot Contest 2020





	The Keeper of Secrets

**Author's Note:**

> This is a part of an anonymous contest and will remain so until after the contest has been voted on and reveals are finished.
> 
> We would like to acknowledge that all of the writers know that the Harry Potter characters, locations and any plot lines used are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.

May 2, 1999

The woman was frail and looked decades older than her age of fifty-seven. She sat hunched over in a faded chair that had once been covered in a bright green silk, but the fabric was time-worn and some odd shade of grey. A copy of the Daily Prophet lay on a battered and scarred side table. The front page showed celebrations of the one-year anniversary of the death of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

There was also a picture of Harry Potter, looking solemn against the other celebratory photos. The woman reached over and touched his photo gently, and then turned to glance out her front window, where she could glimpse that same young man reaching the end of the uneven walkway, carefully opening the front gate for the young and beautiful red-haired girl beside him. His eyes were radiant as he looked at her, and she smiled gently back at him. They had both been so kind, so sweet during their visit.

The old woman had been surprised earlier when she had received a letter by owl post that morning, asking for permission to visit her in the afternoon.

She almost declined. It had been a long, long time since she had had any visitors. But the open and almost sweet simplicity of the letter encouraged her to reply ‘yes’. And meeting the young couple had been...touching. Poignant.

The woman hoped they would have many happy years together. She watched as the couple reached out to each other to hug, and she thought she saw tears running down Miss Weasley’s face. The woman then realized her own face was damp, and reached up with a tattered handkerchief to shakily pat the tears away. She hadn’t spoken of her past in such length to anyone for almost forty years. She hadn’t really spoken to anyone at all for almost twenty.

After a moment she laid the handkerchief on top of the newspaper and reached into her pocket to pull out her wand. Barely audible, she whispered, “Accio”, and a small green velvet bag floated out from a dusty corner of the shelf-lined wall. The bag landed next to the crumpled handkerchief on top of the newspaper. The woman lay her wand on the table and tugged on the silver twine drawstring to open the sack. She pulled out three small boxes, one at a time. Two of the boxes had never been opened in the eighteen years since they had been presented to her by the Ministry of Magic. She didn’t plan on ever opening them.

The old woman picked up the third rectangular box and carefully lifted the lid. Inside, on faded green velvet, lay an old locket. Its gold cover with an embossed ‘Y’ was as bright as the day it was given to her. The woman’s worn hands lifted out the locket and held it against her heart, the chain dangling and glinting in the final shards of the sunset that meandered through the window. She slowly pulled it away and opened the locket. On one side was a picture of a young man with dark brown eyes and blonde, wavy hair. One dark eye saucily winked up at her. On the other side was a wee baby, with tufts of the young man’s light hair, but with her own deep grey eyes. His tiny face scrunched and then smoothed into sleep. Slowly, slowly, the woman traced her finger around the pictures in a figure-eight pattern. She remembered in perfect clarity the day she was given the locket. Such joy and such sorrow in a single day. Oh, such sorrow.

September 17, 1959

Deirdre waited by the gate for Bernard to arrive, leaning against the stone support of the gate. The gate was part of a small line of fencing that surrounded the front of her grandparents’ home. Granda had built the fence so that Nana’s flowers wouldn’t be eaten by any wandering sheep or goats. The house itself once belonged to the gardener for the Dowager of Bedlay. Nana was the granddaughter of that gardener, and his skill lived on in her talent. But Deirdre barely noticed the autumn glory of dahlias and treasure flowers...her gaze was fixed along the hard-packed dirt lane. It was covered in lengthening shadows, as the sun was almost completely down.

Bernard would apparate outside of town near the cemetery and walk up the abandoned railway tracks until he reached a path that would lead to Deirdre’s lane. She lived in the Muggle village of Moodiesburn with her grandparents. Their house was on the outskirts of the small village, but there was often foot traffic from nearby Chryston that went to the local mine. Deirdre's grey eyes shone with excitement as she thought she heard a distant popping noise, although it could have just been wishful thinking. She brushed her dark hair back, smoothing it under her headband. The headband matched her green dress, Bernard’s favorite color. He said it made her eyes glow.

Then she spied him, his long gait easily recognizable, and her heart skipped a beat. Deirdre always felt this way when she saw him, starting when they met as nervous first years at Hogwarts waiting to be Sorted. Even though she had been placed in Gryffindor and Bernard in Slytherin, they had always been together whenever possible.

Bernard ran down the dirt road and reached across the gate to grab Deirdre, sweeping her over the low gate. She squealed, but he stopped the sound with a deep kiss. They only broke apart when they heard a thumping noise from the front of the house. Deirdre’s Nana stood there, tapping her cane against the door frame. When the couple looked at her, she stopped tapping and smiled at them. “Come on, you two. We can’t start Dee’s birthday celebration till we’ve had some cake. Come inside.”

Deirdre and Bernard smiled as he opened the gate, and the couple followed Nana. “I’m looking forward to the cake, Mrs. Rotte. You are an amazing cook,” said the young man as she led them into the kitchen, propping her cane against a wall.

Deirdre’s Granda spoke out from where he was already seated at the table. “Aye, that she is,” he grinned, rubbing his ample stomach. “And ‘t’is glad I am that you can be here a day early to celebrate. I’ll probably be down in Auchengeich all day tomorrow.”

Bernard had an odd look on his face at the seated man’s words. “Is there any trouble at the mine?”

“Oh, not really. Some of the machinery is acting up, but that’s to be expected from time to time. Just need to inspect and maybe replace some of the workings, and that takes a long time to do right.”

Bernard seemed to relax as he held out a chair first for Deirdre, then for Mrs. Rotte after she set the white-iced cake on the table. Deirdre looked up at him questioningly, but he gave a nearly imperceptible shake of his head. He mouthed, “Later,” and then sat down, giving her knee a reassuring squeeze under the tablecloth.

The cake was delicious. Bernard made several appreciative sounds that made Deirdre laugh and Nana cut him another piece. Granda began to protest, “What about me, do I get another piece? I can grunt, too!” Which he proceeded to do in an exaggerated fashion, bringing gales of laughter to the little party.

As the laughter died away, there was a knock on the door. Mr. and Mrs. Rotte turned to look at each other, but Bernard stood up. “Beg your pardon, but I think that’s for me.” Deirdre started to get up, too, but he kissed her on top of her head as he passed by. “Just wait a minute, darling.” Deirdre blushed, but did as she was bid.

There were voices at the door, and the sound of some loud shuffling noises, as if something heavy was being dragged across the floor. “Dee, what is your sweetie up to?” asked Nana.

“I don’t know...should I go peek through the door?” she asked, starting to get up.

“Naw,” said Granda. “Let your young man have the moment, Dee. When you two get married, you need to learn that you don’t have to be in his pants pocket every moment of the day.” Deirdre blushed again, while Nana patted her hand.

“Your Granda is right. Give him his space, or he’ll stop finding space for you.” Then Nana winked. “Although, with the way your young man looks at you, I don’t think you’ll ever need to worry.”

Deirdre thought her face might stay permanently red as she blushed yet again.

At that moment Bernard’s head popped around the door separating the dining area from the front parlor. “Are you talking about me? Well, then maybe I don’t need to give this gift to Mrs. Rotte.”

Deirdre raised her eyebrows as Nana put her hand against her chest and asked, “Me? But it’s Dee’s birthday!”

Bernard slid carefully into the room, keeping the family from seeing past him. “No, today is her birthday celebration. But her birthday isn’t till tomorrow, and Dee will get her gift tomorrow. On her actual natal anniversary.” He patted his shirt pocket, where something caused the fabric to bulge out. “Now, let’s go see Mrs. Rotte’s present.”

Deirdre felt such an up-welling of love in her heart. Bernard was such a kind person. Deirdre was Muggle-born, and she had learned about some wizarding families thinking Muggles deserved nothing but contempt. Most of Bernard’s family felt that way. It hurt her thinking their relationship caused him strain with his family. Whenever she voiced this concern, Bernard would gather her close to him and kiss her fiercely. “It’s a coldness in them that keeps them from seeing the worth of others. You are my life, my warmth. You are worth a thousand of them.” Seeing how he treated her grandparents who had reared her since her parents had died was just one more way her love deepened for him.

Deirdre trailed behind her grandparents into the front room, the tapping of her grandmother’s cane muffled by a handmade rag rug. Bernard was standing next to a plush green wing-back chair, leaning one elbow against it. As Mrs. Rotte came into the room he stepped forward, and bowing slightly, held out his arm for her to take.

Mrs. Rotte’s eyes widened. “That chair? It’s for me? It’s so beautiful!” She leaned over, stroking the watered green silk on the arm.

“I’m afraid it’s not new,” said Bernard. “It’s been mine since I started at Hogwarts. Each child in my family gets to choose a gift to take to Hogwarts. I chose this chair because I thought it would be perfect to sit and study in. It’s in good shape, and I know you would appreciate a comfortable chair when you knit in the evenings. Please, sit down and try it out.” He held his hand under Mrs. Rotte’s elbow as she eased herself into the chair. “I had it delivered here by a Muggle delivery service, so that it wouldn’t look strange floating through the air if I used a summoning charm.” He grinned mischievously.

“Oh, it’s lovely. So soft and comfortable. But won’t you be needing it at Hogwarts this year?” asked Mrs. Rotte.

Bernard turned to Deirdre and led her to the brown settee. He looked around, waiting until Mr. Rotte had made himself comfortable in his own chair, then sat next to the dark-haired girl.

“Mr. and Mrs. Rotte,” he began. He paused, until he felt Deirdre’s hand gently squeeze his in three quick tightenings...their secret signal for ‘I-love-you’. He squeezed back strongly, then lifted his head to face her grandparents.

“I won’t be needing the chair because I didn’t go back to Hogwarts this year.” He held out his hand at the older couple’s surprised gasps. Deirdre sat quietly, knowing what was coming. “Please, let me get through this first.” He cleared his throat. “You see, I asked the new Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, for special permission to have Deirdre home for her birthday.”

“Such a nice and patient man,” said Mr. Rotte. “I remember the day he came by on Dee’s 11 th birthday, explaining about, well, about your world,” he continued, looking at Bernard. “He answered all of our questions, and we had so many! We always knew our Dee was a special girl...and you can’t get more special than having magic abilities!” He winked at his granddaughter.

“Yes, he is a good man. And while a birthday isn’t quite a good enough excuse to miss a couple of days of classes...he let Dee come home for another reason.” He paused, taking a deep breath. “You see, I’ve come to ask your permission to marry your granddaughter.”

Silence reigned for a few seconds. Then Mr. Rotte’s grin split his face, and he turned to his beaming wife. “Right you were, me wife. Right you were.” The older man stood and walked to Bernard, pulling him up to shake his hand. “And right proud we are to say ‘Yes’. Yes, Bernard Yaxley, you may marry our Dee.”

Mrs. Rotte was weeping as Deirdre went to her and kissed her face. “You’ll be a lovely bride, Dee.”

Eventually everyone settled back down. Mr. Rotte cleared his throat. “So what’s this about leaving the school? Isn’t education important for your future in your world? A future in which you’ll be taking care of my granddaughter?” He shot Bernard a serious look.

“I will do everything in my ability to provide for Deirdre,” Bernard said seriously. “But my family...my family is not happy about my wanting to marry Deirdre. In fact...they’ve turned me out.”

Deirdre gasped at this. They had been making plans for their future, and she had been so worried about the family’s reaction. She didn’t think they would go so far as that, and her heart ached for him. She had known that he wouldn’t be returning to Hogwarts, but Bernard had said it was because he wanted to start their life together. Bernard wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close. She felt his warmth, his strength, and felt comforted by the closeness to his body.

“So I’m not staying in school. I’m going to work. In fact, I already have a job. My mother’s cousin works in the Ministry in London, our Ministry,” he said hurriedly, hearing Mrs. Rotte utter a pleased sound. “My cousin and I are a lot alike, even though he’s much older than I am. He’s sort of ostracized, too, because he married a Muggle-born. And he works in Muggle Relations. Those positions can be hard to fill. While not all wizards are contemptuous of non-wizards...wizards can find it difficult to work with Muggles simply because of the differences in backgrounds. But I seem to have an aptitude for it, and it’s all because of your wonderful, sweet, and lovely granddaughter.” He smiled at Deirdre, and she felt herself flush again. Almost unconsciously, she shifted a hand across her belly. The movement wasn’t noticed by anyone in the room, as everyone was looking at Bernard. Even Deirdre herself wasn’t aware of doing it. Bernard continued, “My cousin Elbert and his wife Sheila are letting me stay in their extra bedroom while I look for my own place.”

Deirdre spoke up. “I can still finish out the school year, and we can get married then. I’m pretty sure I can get a job as an archivist at the Ministry. Madame Clinghart, the librarian at Hogwarts, has offered to write a recommendation for me. She has been very pleased with the help I have given her, and I’ve learned so much.”

Nana beamed at both of the young people. “So proud of the both of you. You are young, but you are making very sound plans, despite the obstacles. As long as you put your trust and strength in each other, you will always find the path to the future.”

Deirdre leaned into Bernard, staring upwards into his handsome face. He did give her such hope and strength. Then she got a mischievous look on her face. She raised her hand from her lap and edged it toward Bernard’s shirt pocket, where a hint of green taunted her from the top edge. But before she could reach it, the young man grabbed her hand, kissed it, then lowered it back to her lap. “Not until tomorrow, when it’s truly your birthday.”

Deirdre laughed. “That’s only a few hours away. Do I really have to wait?” Deirdre was curious, but she really didn’t have a problem with waiting. She would wait forever for him.

“Yes, Dee, you have to wait. But I have to ask your grandparents a question.” Mr. Rotte peered at Bernard, eyebrow raised. “How would you like to see some dragons? Specifically, some hatchlings?”

All of the Rottes gaped at Bernard, stunned into silence. Finally, Mrs. Rotte thumped her cane on the floor in front of her. “But from what Dee has told me, dragons are kept on reserves. And how can we Muggles be allowed to see them?”

Dee was equally befuddled. They used many different parts of a dragon in a lot of their potion work, and her own wand had a dragon heartstring. She lay her hand over the pocket where her wand was ensconced...she had to be so careful with it, making sure the other residents of Moodiesburn never saw it. Such secrecy had to be endured by the wizarding community...and yet here was Bernard, wanting to take her Muggle grandparents to see dragons!

Bernard’s blue eyes sparkled. “As long as you’re up to going to the cemetery. Some dragon hatchlings are being transported to Wales, to a sanctuary there. Some idiot tried to raise a dragon in Iceland...the mother dragon died trying to keep her babies warm, wouldn’t leave them long enough to eat for herself. My cousin’s wife Sheila works in the Department of International Magical Relations. There were three countries involved, so she had to act as a liaison with the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. The teams are flying in relays, and the Welsh group will meet here just before midnight for the final leg. Sheila asked if Deirdre and I could help keep watch, making sure no Muggles see them...excepting you two.” He grinned.

Deirdre gasped and glanced at her grandparents. They looked stunned.

Nana spoke first, regret filling her voice. “Oh, me lad, I would so love to see baby dragons. But I can’t make it that far. Not with my rheumatism. And no,” she said quickly, holding up one work-worn hand as Bernard started to protest, “I shan’t allow you to use any magic to help me get there. We can’t risk being seen. My being out in the middle of the night would just cause too many questions. But my Robbie should go,” she said, smiling at her husband.

Mr. Rotte stood and went to where his wife sat in her new chair. “I can’t go without you. It wouldn’t feel right.”

“Oh, pish. Just go. You can keep an eye on these two.” She patted his hand that rested on the back of the chair, looking up into his face. “I’ll wait up and we’ll have some tea and cake when you come back in.”

Dee was disappointed that Nana couldn’t go, but excited to see some dragons. She looked at her Granda, whose face was filled with delight. He beamed back at her. “Dee, you must keep me safe from the wee dragons tonight.”

Dee laughed, and crossed the room to hug her Granda. “I’m sure all we can do is take a peek at them. But won’t that be exhilarating by itself!”

It was a few hours before they would leave for the cemetery. Deirdre helped Nana finish cleaning the kitchen, taking out some sandwiches to Bernard and Granda at Nana’s urging. The men sat talking, mostly discussing the wizarding world. Mr. Rotte was always interested in learning about the life Deirdre would be experiencing in the future.

Mrs. Rotte and Deirdre sat at the kitchen table, discussing tentative wedding plans. Her grandmother said that tomorrow they would delve into some trunks stored in the basement and find the lace veil Deirdre’s mother had worn in her wedding. Deirdre wondered how she could go back to school for a year and concentrate on any lessons. She was so happy she felt as if she could float without using any magic.

At last it came time to proceed to the cemetery. Mrs. Rotte waved them off as they started down the dirt lane in front of the house. The full moon would light their way, and they would just have to be careful that none of the other residents saw them. The night was crisp, almost cold, but without any wind it made for an invigorating walk. After a short trek through some trees, the trio started down the old railway path. It went past the cemetery, and they would wait at the edge of the treeline for the dragon teams to arrive.

Deirdre walked with her hand clasped in Bernard’s. As they walked, he spoke about his new job. Eventually he hoped he would get to liaison with Muggles in high political offices. The challenges of mingling the magical and muggle worlds enticed Bernard. Mr. Rotte, half-laughing, asked if the young man would ever get a chance to meet the Queen. His laughter changed to silent surprise when Bernard said that several of her staff were indeed wizards, assigned to protect and advise her.

When they reached the edge of the cemetery, Bernard conjured up some blankets, and he placed them over some old railroad ties which had been moved aside when the line was dismantled. Mr. Rotte sat, and Deirdre and Bernard circled the cemetery, checking to see that the area was clear. Deirdre realized it was very clever for the dragon transport team to stop in a cemetery. Any strange sights and sounds would be blamed on ghostly activity. In fact, the faint light from their wands would be explained as will o’wisps if anyone saw them, and locals would avoid the area for fear of being led to harm or even death.

Deirdre watched the light from Bernard’s wand as it seemed to float around the opposite edge of the cemetery. She felt a happy flutter in her stomach as she gazed his way. But as she thought about his family, her smile faded. Deirdre had never wanted to come between him and his family. She had met his parents once, when they came for a Quidditch match at Hogwarts in their fourth year. Mr. and Mrs. Yaxley had first greeted her warmly. But when it was revealed she was Muggle-born, their eyes went cold and they had turned away, pulling Bernard with them. She had watched in dismay as Bernard walked between his parents, obviously pleading with them. About thirty minutes later, Bernard found Deirdre crying in a corner of the courtyard. He had dried her tears with the edge of his robe, and apologized for his bigoted parents. His brown eyes were sad as he held her, but his face was both tender and stoic as he spoke. He promised to always take care of her and to love her.

“Maybe one day,” Deirdre thought, “...maybe one day after she and Bernard had a child, maybe his family would change their minds.” She touched her abdomen with that thought, imagining a child with Bernard. That thought brought the smile back to her face.

Bernard smiled at her as they met together at the opposite side from where they started. Then he directed her to hold her wand aloft and he did the same. At that signal, several wizards and witches flew in over the treetops, some from the north and others from the south. The group sloping down from the north held some sort of contraption between two of the brooms. The two groups set down in the open grassy area in front of Deirdre and Bernard. They wore heavy cloaks, scarves, and gloves. Several hands rose in greeting to Bernard and Deirdre. The northern group began working to remove a trunk-sized box from two brooms. It had been attached to the brooms with buckled leather straps, and a man and a woman both pointed their wands quietly and the straps unclasped themselves from the brooms.

Deirdre’s grandfather walked up about that time, an expectant look on his face. One of the wizards from the southern team turned suddenly and pointed his wand in the old man’s direction.

“No, he’s with us!” whispered Bernard loudly, and Dierdre had her own wand out, ready to cast a shield charm in front of her grandfather.

The wizard still aimed his wand at Mr. Rotte, who stood stock-still, hands half-raised in a gesture of submission. Then the wand slowly dropped and the man turned, pushing the hood off of his face.

“So,” he growled. “It’s you, Bernard. I should have known. Cavorting with Muggles.” He spat on the ground. The other wizards paused in their work, hands reaching for their own wands.

“Corban,” uttered Bernard, his voice devoid of all feeling. Deirdre shivered and stepped closer to him.

Corban’s eyes shifted to her. One side of his mouth lifted in a smirk. “So, cousin, this is the mudblood who took you away from our family.” Deirdre gasped, as did several of the other wizards and witches.

Bernard raised his chin. Deirdre could feel him shaking, but his voice came out steady and firm. “No, this is the woman who loves me more than my so-called family is capable of doing.”

Corban snorted and started to say something, but an older wizard detached himself from the group and strode over. “Enough of this. We have a job to do. Yaxley, get back on your broom and patrol the area we’ll be heading. Go. NOW,” he said, raising his voice as Bernard’s cousin didn’t move immediately.

With a snarl, Corban spat again and strode back to his broom. As he mounted, he stared with a stony intensity at Bernard and Dierdre.

The older wizard who had told Corban to leave watched as he took off, then turned back to the couple. He sighed, pulling off a glove and reaching out to shake their hands. He also shook Mr. Rotte’s as the old man tentatively made his way over. “I guess I should introduce myself. I’m Paul Wood. Sheila said you are a good man, Bernard, and I trust her. She’s done a bang-up job arranging this transport. Your cousin Corban is all blow...he’s young and trying to prove himself.” He sighed again, then looked around at the other wizards, who still watched warily.

Bernard nodded with no expression. “This is my fiancee, Deirdre, and her grandfather Mr. Rotte. He won’t say anything.”

Granda nodded. “No, we keep our Dee safe. My wife and I would never do anything to cause her difficulty of any sort living in your world.” He doffed his hat and scratched his nearly-bald pate. “So, would that mean we can’t take a peek at the wee dragons then?”

Mr. Wood smiled tiredly. “Sheila said you would be here, so it’s not a problem. But we do need to go soon. The hatchlings have had a sleeping draft, but it will be wearing off in awhile.” While they talked, the group strode over to the box, where the southern team was attaching it to two of their brooms. All of the wizards and witches stood in a circle as Mr. Wood tapped his wand on the side of the box and the lid rose straight up and floated a few feet above their heads. They leaned over to peek inside. “Be careful,” he warned. “The box is enchanted to be heated, and it’s a little warmer than what humans tend to like.”

And indeed, Deirdre could feel the warmth emanating as she and her grandfather, heads together, gazed upon the dragons. There were three of them, mottled brown and green, curled around each other, eyes closed. Swirls of steam seemed to drift up from their nostrils. Tiny wings were pulled close to the round bodies. “Aye,” her grandfather sighed. “Now that’s a sight. Such wee little beasties.”

Deirdre and her grandfather looked at each other and grinned. “Thank you, Mr. Wood,” Mr. Rotte said, straightening up and offering his hand again. “Take care in your flight.”

Mr. Wood smiled as they shook hands. “We will. Nice meeting you, sir. And you, too, Miss Rotte and Mr. Yaxley.” He waved his wand at the lid and it snuggled back down over the sleeping young dragons. Pulling on his glove, he called for everyone to mount their brooms. And as quietly as they had come in, the two teams flew out. One back to the north, and the other to the south, now laden with their sleeping cargo.

As the fliers disappeared into the sky, Deirdre hugged Bernard. “Thank you for that wonderful surprise, Bernard. Thank you for sharing it with Granda.”

“It’s why I was a bit concerned when he mentioned trouble at the mine earlier tonight. I was worried that there could be a lot of Muggles out and about,” Bernarnd explained. “But I’m glad we had this chance.”

“Indeed, what a night, what a night,” said her grandfather. “Well, it’s late, and I will be in the mine for a long time tomorrow. I’m going to go ahead home. You two can stroll along behind me. But take your time. Enjoy a walk in the moonlight.” And he went off, with amazing vigor for a man of his age.

“I don’t know that he will ever quit that mine,” said Deirdre as Bernard took her hand. “He so enjoys his work and being productive. Nana says it would kill him to have nothing to do but sit around the house or the pub. He has to keep busy.”

“Must be where you get it from,” replied Bernard. “You worked so hard at Hogwarts. I love how dedicated you are.”

Deirdre blushed. “Sometimes I feel I have to work twice as hard, being Muggle-born. I feel I have to prove my ability so much more.” She felt Bernard squeeze her hand.

“Oh, darling, you don’t have to prove anything to anyone. You are perfect just being you.”

“Even so...I hate what has happened between you and your family. I-”

Bernard cut her off with one strong finger over her lips. “We are not talking about them tonight. They have the problem. Not you. Not me. Them. I do hope we can reconcile one day, but I’m not going to be miserable so that they can be happy in their rigidity. In their stupidity.” He shuddered slightly. “I’m glad to escape that. I would give up the world for you, my dear girl!” Bernard kissed her on her forehead.

Then he tapped his pocket. “Well, then, since it’s past midnight, I guess it’s technically your birthday. So...here you go. Happy eighteenth birthday, my sweet!” He tugged out the package which was wrapped in green paper tied with a gold string. He held his hands together so that Deirdre could use them as a sort of shelf. She pulled the string and the paper fell away, revealing a carved wooden box. She slowly lifted the lid, and then uttered a soft “Oh,” as she lifted out the gold locket. Holding it in one hand, she slowly traced the elaborate ‘Y’ that was etched in the center, surrounded by tiny carved flowers.

“Oh, Bernard, it’s so beautiful!” She opened it carefully, then laughed at the photo of Bernard on the left side. He was waggling his eyebrows at her. She leaned up and kissed the real Bernard on the lips.

He pulled her close to him. “I’m sorry that I can’t afford an engagement ring, so this locket will have to suffice in the meantime. I had already picked it out over the summer as a birthday gift. I wasn’t sure which picture you would want of yourself, so I’ll let you choose that one.”

Deirdre paused, while looking down at the locket. “What about…what about a picture of a baby, instead?”

Bernard’s eyes widened. “Wha---? Are you...are we….?”

Deirdre looked up in trepidation. “I—I’m not completely sure. But I...I think so.” She looked back down at the locket, fearful of his reaction.

She suddenly felt herself grabbed around the middle and being swung around. Bernard was shouting and whooping. “I’M GOING TO BE A FATHER!!!” he yelled. The jewelry box went flying into the dusty lane, landing with a small thump. Then he stopped just as suddenly as he had started and placed her gently back on her feet. “Oh, my love, you have made me so happy. I guess we’d better move up the wedding date!” He gazed tenderly into her face. “I love you, Deirdre Leah Rotte.”

Deirdre laughed weakly, relief evident on her face. “I love you, too, Bernard Peter Yaxley.”

He carefully picked up the locket chain from her hands and lowered it slowly over her head, pulling her dark hair out from under it with slow, gentle movements. “And yes, a picture of our baby will go perfectly in it. Both of us will be right by your heart.”

Deirdre had tears streaming down her face as they embraced. Her head tucked perfectly under his chin, and he held her tightly, caressing her dark hair. “There now, enough of those tears. Let’s get back to your grandparents. You need to take it easy. You shouldn’t be gallivanting around the countryside just to look at dragons.”

Deirdre tried to sniff away the tears. “And who was it that took me gallivanting?” she demanded. He laughed and picked up the box and the wrappings that were on the ground, tucking everything back into his pocket. The moon was starting to set behind the trees, but there was enough light to clearly show the old railway path. Bernard seemed to want to go slowly, to be sure Deirdre didn’t trip. She thought it was silly and lovely all at the same time.

When they returned to the old gardener’s stone house, Nana was indeed waiting up for them. Granda had already gone up to bed, but Nana gave them tea and cake as promised, wishing her granddaughter a happy birthday. She asked them about the dragons, and they shared their experience. Except about Corban Yaxley. Deirdre didn’t want to worry her grandmother.

Then as the couple began yawning, Nana hurried Deirdre upstairs, telling Bernard that there were some extra blankets and a pillow on the settee, since it was silly for him to go sleep elsewhere when she knew he would be back in the morning anyway. Deirdre blew Bernard a kiss as Nana followed her up the back stairs.

Deirdre curled up under a pink-and-white block quilt her mother had made for her before she had died. Deirdre had been three and only had vague memories of her mother. She had none of her father, since he had died when she was only four months old. He had perished in the War, somewhere in France. Deirdre loved her grandparents and they had given her love and nurturing and everything she needed. But she felt as if there were a hole, a space in her life that had been missing. But maybe now with Bernard and the baby...maybe that space would be filled. Deirdre stared out the window at the stars, trying to imagine what the baby might look like, and drifted off to sleep.

She was awakened to the smell of breakfast cooking and someone singing, very off key. Deirdre giggled to herself as she realized it was Bernard singing. It sounded like he might be in the kitchen with Nana. Her window showed it was still dark outside, but Deirdre bounded out of bed anyway. The sun would be up soon. She quickly finished her morning ablutions, changed into a soft pink dress, and tied her dark hair back into a low ponytail with a pink ribbon.

Bernard was washing the dishes and trying to sing an old Scottish ditty that Nana was teaching him. He couldn’t quite roll his ‘r’s, and the harder he tried the more it set Nana to laughing.

Bernard kissed Deirdre on the cheek and gave her hand a quick squeeze as she picked up a drying cloth to help him. As she finished, Nana passed her a tattie scone and Deirdre leaned over the sink as she ate. “Where is Granda?” she asked in between two delicious bites.

Nana sighed as she carefully sat down at the table. “He was called in to the mine earlier than he was scheduled to be there. Mr. Pettigrew, one of the other undermanagers, stopped by on his way. Said there was some kind of haze in the mine, and all the managers were being called in.” She turned to Bernard. “Did you notice his limp? Poor man, he was injured in the War. Nearly died, from what we heard. A hard worker, but tends to spend a lot of the time in the pub. Keeps to himself though, for the most part. War can do strange things to a man.” She bowed her head for a moment, then looked up, her face brightening.

“Would you two mind taking some breakfast to Mr. Rotte? He only sipped some tea as he was getting dressed. He’s far too old to be going on like that.” While her words were stern, Deirdre could hear the pride in Nana’s voice for her industrious husband.

Deirdre and Bernard gathered scones, some hard-boiled eggs, and a small crock of cold milk into one of Nana’s handmade baskets. It was almost 7:00 AM, and the sun had just started to come up. They walked hand-in-hand, with the basket hooked on Bernard’s arm. “You know, when you’re my wife, I’ll expect you to be a good cook. Maybe not as good as your Nana...” He laughed as she playfully punched his arm.

“I’ll have you know that I’m pretty good. Nana is an excellent teacher. And,” Deirdre paused, looking around to see if anyone was close, “with the spells I’ve learned to help me cook, I expect you’ll have no complaint.” She looked up out of the corner of her eye at him. “And if you do complain, there are OTHER spells I’ve learned...”

“No complaints about cooking. Got it.” Bernard smiled down at her. “And I doubt I’ll ever complain about anything you do. You are my sweet Dee. Perfectly perfect for me.” He paused. “When shall we tell your grandparents? About...about the baby.”

She stumbled slightly, and Bernard pulled her closer to him. “Let’s wait until we know for sure. Maybe...maybe we can go to St. Mungo’s later today? I couldn’t go ask at Hogwarts...although, I can’t have been the first.”

‘Of course. We’ll apparate there after we take this to your grandfather. And maybe we can be man and wife before the end of the week!” Bernard grinned again.

By this time they had reached the road that led down to the mine, and all talk of the magical world had to cease as they were around Muggles. “There sure are a lot of people around,” Deirdre mused. “But, I guess it’s changing from night shift to day, so maybe that’s it.”

But as they joined the crowd around one of the pit entrances, they saw a man being carried out. Deirdre’s hand flew to her mouth. “Granda?” she whispered, the sound barely being heard through her fingers. Bernard could see over most of the men’s heads, and he restrained her as she started to push through the crowd. “No, it’s not. It’s not Mr. Rotte.” Relief filled Deirdre so that she felt weak and shaky. Bernard grabbed her around the waist with one arm, the basket still dangling on his other.

The air was beginning to be filled with shouting. So many were yelling and calling out, making it hard to distinguish who was saying what. “Get them up! Get them up out of the pit now!” “Fire! There’s a fire!” “Grab the hoses, run them to the water!” “The rescue brigade is on its way!”

Bernard and Deirdre were being pushed around as the men ran to help. Bernard pulled Deirdre out of the way as much as possible. Men were moving, yelling and shouting. They could catch the whiffs of something burning. Deirdre and Bernard kept searching the crowds, hoping to catch a glimpse of Mr. Rotte. The Rescue Brigade arrived, causing everyone to scatter as they brought in more hoses and equipment. Somewhere in the chaos, the food basket and its contents were lost, but neither Deirdre nor Bernard noticed.

The dread on Deirdre’s face grew as she searched the men’s faces, hoping to see her grandfather. She kept glancing up at Bernard since he was taller and could see more. He would just shake his head and squeeze her shoulder.

Time seemed to both stretch out and rush by. Word spread through the crowd that over 40 men were missing. Rescue teams went in with breathing equipment, but reported they couldn’t see anything because of the mix of smoke, gases, and dust. Deirdre’s grandmother arrived, shaking and panting, barely able to stand as she leaned heavily on her cane. The two women clung to each other. Bernard coaxed them to the back of the crowd, where Mrs. Rotte could at least sit down on some stacked crates.

“I see Mr. Pettigrew,” Bernard said as Deirdre helped her grandmother lower herself to the crates. “I’ll go ask him where Mr. Rotte is. Stay right here.” And he was gone before she could say or do anything.

When he came back a few moments later, his face was grim. Mrs. Rotte’s already pale face went ashen. Deirdre sank next to her grandmother. “He was down in the pit, helping to replace the fan belt that caught fire.” He paused, his brown eyes becoming determined. “I’m going down there. I’m going to find him.” And before she or Mrs. Rotte could say or do anything, he stepped behind the pile of equipment, turned, and disappeared. The popping noise was lost in all the chaos.

And then time stopped and became broken. Deirdre’s mind seemed to be only able to latch on to fragments of seconds.

Images which loomed large and then flitted away.

Bodies, covered in soot. Lifeless.

Nana collapsing next to Granda’s body.

Bernard. Beautiful Bernard. Blonde hair covered in ashes.

Bernard’s brown eyes, closed forever.

Funeral after funeral after funeral.

Bernard’s parents claiming his body.

Bernard’s parents refusing to hear about the baby.

Bernard’s parents telling her it was her fault he was dead.

Empty house. Silent house.

Silent heart.

The silence might have completely encased Deirdre had it not been for Alan Pettigrew. About two weeks after the horrible accident at Auchengeich Colliery, something pulled him to check on the young Miss Rotte. The front door was open when he arrived.

Peeking in carefully, he saw her form in the near-darkness. In a soft voice he began to apologize for the intrusion. “I just came by to pay my respects for your loss, Miss Rotte. I feel some responsibility. I think your young man rushed in to the pit to save Mr. Rotte based on what I said that day. He was very brave to go in to find your grandfather, even though I don’t know how he had managed to make it past all the rescue teams without being seen...”

Deirdre was in Nana’s green chair as Mr. Pettigrew spoke from the doorway, hat in his hands. At his last sentence, she began laughing almost maniacally. Mr. Pettigrew stood still, thinking she had drifted from depression into full madness.

“How did he get past everyone???” She laughed again. “I’ll show you how!” She stood, turned, and disappeared with a small cracking noise.

Before Pettigrew could grasp what happened, he heard a laugh behind him. He spun around and there was Deirdre, between him and the gate.

Then she wasn’t laughing, but sobbing, collapsing into the remnants of her grandmother’s flowers. Mr. Pettigrew limped out, picked her up, carried her into the house, and lay her on the settee. Then he left his hat on Granda’s chair and went through the door to the kitchen. As her ragged sobs started ebbing, Deirdre could hear him fumbling around in the kitchen. She was suddenly embarrassed by the days-old disorder that she knew was in there. But somehow he found the makings for tea, and came out with a cup and saucer, holding it very steady despite his limp.

He took the tea to Deirdre as she sat up, and she thought she caught a faint whiff of spirits about his person. She watched as he sat silent in her grandfather’s old chair. She took two sips, her shaking hands rattling the delicate china. And then she began to speak. Of magic and witches and wizards and dragons and love. Of being so scared, so alone, and expecting a baby. Alan Pettigrew just sat and listened, wanting to believe it was just the ravings of a bereaved woman who had just lost three people she loved. Yet somehow, it explained the mystery of how Bernard was able to get into the mine when the entrances were all being so closely watched.

Drained of words, the first she had uttered in many days, Deirdre sat silent and still, feeling the last vestiges of strength leave her. Her body slumped on the settee, teacup resting precariously on her knees.

The silence grew. Mr. Pettigrew spun his hat slowly around in his large hands. “So,” he said sharply. “You’re a witch?”

Deirdre lay the cup and saucer on the floor. She felt for the wand in her skirt pocket, and slowly drew it out. She pointed it at Mr. Pettigrew’s hat, almost giggling at the sight of his widening eyes. “Wingardium Leviosa” she said, and the tweed hat floated into the air. One rough hand reached up as if to grab at it, then just as quickly Pettigrew drew back. Deirdre took pity on his fear and let the hat drop back down and put her wand away. “I’m sorry if I scared you. But thank you for being here today. Thank you for bringing me back to my senses. I’m not the only one who lost loved ones or friends in that damn mine fire. So I must depend upon...myself...” Her voice grew weaker at the end, as if that very thought made the future too difficult to ponder.

Alan Pettigrew stood up. “It is a hard time for all of us, lass.” He twirled the hat some more, as if gathering thoughts. “I’ll check on you in a day or two, if that be alright.”

Deirdre nodded, then bent to pick up the china so she wouldn’t step on it.

Pettigrew stopped at the door. “And I won’t tell anyone about you being a...about…” He paused as he placed the hat on his head. “No one would believe me anyway,” he said, and shot Deirdre a half-grin.

Deirdre didn’t smile, but she did nod her thanks. And as he left she started looking around, noticing the disheveled and dirty house. “First things first,” she thought, and went to the kitchen to find an apron to start cleaning.

Two days later the house almost shone. Deirdre was sitting in the green chair again, remembering when Bernard had brought it in. Oddly, she didn’t feel any tears. She just felt...empty. When the knock came at the door, Deirdre jumped, startled from her reverie.

Mr. Pettigrew was there, holding some late autumn flowers in his hand. “May I come in?” he asked, doffing his hat.

Bemused, Deirdre let him in. She sat back down in the green chair, but he remained standing.

“Miss Rotte, I have been thinking. You need some help, and I think I can help you.” He was sweating slightly, Deirdre noticed. “You’re going to have a baby, and you can’t take care of it and work on your own. I’d like to, uh, to ask you, to umm, marry me. You see...I...I can’t have children of my own. I was injured, in the War, and I, uh, won’t ever be able to have children. But I could help you raise your child. It will be better if you, that is, umm, if people think the baby is mine. And then no one would be suspicious about your, ah, your abilities.”

Deirdre wondered why she wasn’t speaking against this idea. Bernard’s baby being raised as someone else’s? She could go to a wizarding village and be among her own kind, and raise the baby as a wizard, which hopefully he or she would be. But what if the Yaxley family ever found out? Deirdre remembered the hatred and condemnation in his parents’ eyes. She remembered the vile Corban Yaxley, and fear gripped her heart at what he might do to her child. No, her child’s safety was paramount.

Deirdre looked up as she realized the silence had gone on for some time. Mr. Pettigrew stood in front of her, gripping the flowers so tightly that they were almost bending in half.

“Yes, Mr. Pettigrew. I will marry you.”

****************************************

May 2, 1999

Harry and Ginny stood just outside the gate to Mrs. Pettigrew’s home. Harry held Ginny close as she cried quietly.

“Oh,” she sniffed. “What a sweet old woman. How much she has gone through. I don’t want to feel any sympathy for Peter Pettigrew and what he did. But he had such an awful childhood and I guess Voldemort manipulated him like he did so many.” She paused, then added, “Like he did me.”

Harry hugged her tight. Ginny understood him better than anyone else, and he understood her. It was part of why he loved her so much.

Ginny sniffed once more and pulled her arms up to dab at her eyes with the end of her sleeves. “I still can’t forgive him. He was a coward. But you were right to tell her how Pettigrew wouldn’t kill you there at Malfoy Manor. Mrs. Pettigrew deserved to know that her son, at the very end, did something good. She only tried to do right for him in her life.”

Harry took her by the hand and started to lead her down the path, unknowingly going to the same copse of trees under which Bernard would apparate in and out. “Thanks for going with me, Gin.”

She winked enticingly at him, her inner-strength showing in her face now that she had wiped away her tears. “Oy, you’re not going to see any woman without me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it. I haven’t forgotten your bat-bogey hex.” Harry laughed as she moved to punch him in the shoulder. “Ouch, that hurt!”

“You deserved it,” Ginny said unsympathetically. “But let’s hurry. Mum wants us at the Burrow for dinner. I think she needs us all there...for George, especially.”

Harry nodded solemnly as they walked toward a copse of trees. He wondered if anyone ever really escaped the past. He thought of Sirius, wanting to get away from his family’s bigotry. Remus, fighting the stigma of an event from when he was a child and over which he had no control. Draco, faced with the dilemma of committing murder to protect his family. He thought of Peter Pettigrew, whom Harry had wanted to hate for betraying his parents. And Peter’s mother, who only wanted to protect her son, but in doing so put him on a path of insecurity and fear, making him vulnerable to evil influences. And yet...yet at the end, against the odds, that weak and troubled man hadn’t let evil control him to kill again.

Harry gazed at the young woman beside him and realized, with the right people, you could at least move forward. You had the chance to find happiness so that the past didn’t drown you in sorrow, or lock you in despair and helplessness.

Hope against hope, and triumphing against the odds themselves, the boy who lived and the girl who loved him moved as one toward a future together. And under the cover of the trees, they twisted together and disappeared. The breeze carried away any noise that was made, twirling some leaves and dust, and then all was quiet.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> We would like to thank you for reading and hope you enjoy xo


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